


Summer In The City

by Random_Nexus



Series: Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2017 [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Karaoke, M/M, Post S4, Prompt Fic, Watson's Woes, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-23 13:48:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11403687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Nexus/pseuds/Random_Nexus
Summary: London's having a heatwave, Rosie's spending the weekend with Sherlock's parents and Sherlock's off doing experiments, John's got nothing on but a good book and a fan, but he ends up going out to have some fun with Greg, and hijinx ensue.Written for the prompt: "The prompt for July 2 is: Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight. Your prompt for today is: Summer in the city. For those of you differentiating between new and old prompts, this is a new prompt."  -Watson's WoesJuly Writing PromptsWarnings:Possibly annoying though brief recaps, Utter silliness, Belief suspenders required, Karaoke, Muse on the loose.





	Summer In The City

**Author's Note:**

> I had an idea and let the Muse go... and go... and I feel the need to say that all I wanted was some short and sweet karaoke fun, and here we are at 4k plus. *le sigh* I wrote 90% of it on the day/eve of the prompt - I feel like that should count for something.
> 
>  **Special Note:** Set after S4:E3, with a little bit of recapping, but mostly presuming the reader is aware of the events up to that point in the series.

It was summer in London. On top of that, the city was held in the too-warm, too-humid embrace of a record-breaking heatwave.

In the intermittent path of an oscillating fan, John sat in his favourite chair reading. He wore a v-neck sleeveless vest and a pair of old, worn khaki shorts he’d only recently been able to fit into again. Running after a curious toddler, as well as running after a curious madman of a detective will certainly keep a man in shape.

Once upon a time, John might’ve been a little prouder of his more toned legs and flatter belly—he doubted he’d ever have the abs he’d sported in his army days—but he was a lot less self-focussed of late. His motherless daughter and his reclaimed best friend keeping his attention most of the time; well, except for that particular day, which had seen John alone in the flat most of the afternoon and, if things went as expected, would lead to more of the same for most of the evening, too.

That morning, Sherlock’s parents had swooped into town to take Rosie with them for a weekend at the seaside. Although the rift between Sherlock, Mycroft, and their parents had taken a while to heal after the events two years prior, when a third Holmes sibling had been revealed in the most terrifying and horrible way imaginable—John, as well as Sherlock and Mycroft, having nearly been killed—Sherlock had come away something of a changed man. He had continued to visit his sister in the once-more-secure facility in which she resided, the two of them playing violin duets for hours, but he had also pushed his parents to change their attitudes toward Mycroft and Sherlock, himself, as well as to try to accept what had happened with their lost and found daughter and move forward.

Eventually, Sherlock’s parents—perhaps in aid of the ‘moving forward’ effort—had sort of co-opted John as something of an adopted Holmes, or perhaps a colonised Watson, and Mrs. Holmes had fallen into cooing, baby-talking love with Rosie.

There wasn’t a one of them who hadn’t been in therapy since then, including John; especially John, whom Sherlock had somehow forgiven for all his failings as a friend, but who’d been working quite hard to forgive himself.

Now, the therapy had been reduced to occasional visits—for John and Sherlock, both—and the two of them seemed to be closer again, almost as they’d been early on in their association as flatmates and friends. John had moved back into Baker Street, which had been rebuilt and renovated, including a surprising amount of child-proofing, and things had eventually become… normal. Well, maybe not everyone else’s idea of normal, but closer to it than in the past.

Their ‘normal’ now included Sherlock once again solving cases, though with a lot less recklessness in the face of danger, and being a pretty decent ‘uncle’ to Rosie; while John not only embraced his role as a father and best friend, but maintained other friendships to give himself a bit more of a healthy variety. One of those friendships being with Greg Lestrade, who’d stood by Sherlock over the years and who’d come to be a rather good friend to John, as well. Greg, who’d become something of another ‘uncle’ to Rosie, along with her Aunt Molly and Nana Martha, was actually a good sort to pal around with for John and yet another one willing to help watch Rosie now and then—though he had less time than any of the others for obvious reasons.

The quiet of the late afternoon was broken by the text alert from John’s mobile, resting on the nearby side-table.

It was a text from Greg: _[Rosie already off to the Grans? – Lestrade]_

A crooked hint of a smile on his face, John replied, _[You do know they’re not actually her grandparents, right?]_

_[Tomayto/Tomahto. Might as well be. Seriously – doing anything tonight? – Lestrade]_

Looking around the sitting room, giving the tiniest philosophical tilt to his head, John sighed as he tapped out an answer, _[Reading, relaxing, sweating, etc. What’s on?]_

_[Where’s your taller half? – Lestrade]_

Rolling his eyes on a much louder and huffier sigh, John sat upright as he pressed the tiny keys as rapidly as he could manage and still make sense. Just because he’d gradually come to realise his affections for his friend and flatmate were deeper than he’d been able to acknowledge in the past didn’t mean he was going to act upon them and ruin the friendship he’d fought so hard to regain; nor was he going to let that sort of teasing go unchallenged, though Sherlock had never really seemed to pay it any mind.

 _[That’s the talk keeping those rumours going, you arse.]_ John sent that text and went right into another, frowning in concentration. _[My FRIEND Sherlock is at Bart’s morgue running some tests. What. Do. You. Want?]_

 _[C’mon, it’s all in fun between us, don’t burst a seam!]_ Greg’s text was soon followed by another, his typing speedier than John’s. _[Good, he’ll be gone for hours. You know what weekend this is, yeah? I. Want. To. Have. Some. Fun. Down. K-Town. Git. – Lestrade]_

A chuckle, small though it was, moved John’s shoulders, his head lifting briefly. Giving another glance to the book he’d laid aside, even as the oscillating fan blew another stream of vaguely cooler air at him, John shook his head and tapped out another text. _[You’re buying the first apology round. Meet you in an hour?]_

_[Done and done. Denims and white T’s tonight, yeah? – Lestrade]_

John nodded, despite the fact Greg couldn’t see him, texting, _[Loafers or hiking boots?]_

The responding text came quickly. _[Boots. We have a plan. See you. – Lestrade.]_

John was chuckling a bit as he pried himself loose from his chair, tucking his phone in the cargo pocket of his shorts, and going upstairs to change. On his way out a while later, John texted Sherlock. _[Going out for a few pints with Greg. Please make sure to eat something?]_

About two minutes after he’d got on the tube, John received a reply from Sherlock: _[Already have a mother, thanks. Have fun. – SH]_ Five minutes later, after John had shaken his head with a little smile and tucked away his phone again, it jangled and vibrated again. He found a second message from Sherlock. _[Dinner’s handled. Molly threatening to treat me to a curry. – SH]_

 _[Well done, Molly. See you later.]_ John smiled fondly, assured that Sherlock was in a good mood by his phrasing and that he would be eating thanks to Molly. He promised himself he would get something really nice for Molly on her birthday. With that worry dismissed, he was free to relax and enjoy tossing back a few with Greg. Amongst other things.

~~~

Three hours later, the crowd in the bar named ‘K-Town’ were enjoying a fairly nice selection of on-tap microbrews, wonderfully effective air-conditioning, and a great sound system; the ‘K’ in the bar’s name stood for Karaoke. It was couples night and the competition for best performance was going strong. One of the selling points of the place was that they didn’t quibble with the composition of any of the competing couples; all there had to be was two legal adults with a will to make fools of themselves on stage in order to win a prize.

That night, the prize was matching drinking steins with the K-Town logo on one side and ‘Couple’s Night Karaoke Champion’ on the other; the pot was further sweetened by the fact that said prizes could be refilled for half price drinks for the rest of that year.

Greg Lestrade and John Watson, unashamedly and only a bit tipsily, had made it to the semi-finals. They were up against two other couples: one of them two excessively giggly women who, despite their incessant laughter before and after each song, managed to make some seriously talented harmonies while dancing in excellent synchronisation on enormous heels; the other couple were a bearded man built like he might be able to bench press small cars and a woman with shockingly red hair who looked like an amazon, both in matching leather trousers and tight black t-shirts, with fine voices and brilliant timing. As they’d agreed earlier, John and Greg both wore denims and white t-shirts, as well as hiking boots. This wasn’t their first karaoke competition at the K-Town bar.

John was sort of amazed that he and Greg had made it as far as they had this time, but he’d been having a great evening. Their choices of category for each round had stayed with the stuff from their youth, some of which were virtually unknown to a potentially depressing number of their fellow patrons, but which they knew so well it had been easy to perform every one with enthusiasm and plain old fun; they’d both spent a lot of time back in the day rocking through their favourites playing air-guitar and practicing the moves they’d have like to make on a real stage. Who knew such typical teenage skills would come in handy later in life?

Whichever category each couple chose, the song would be a random pick of those available, which gave the competition a bit more spice and made it a little harder on the contestants. The gigglers had been doing a lot of girl band power ballads and j-pop. The leather-clad pair had been doing mostly heavy metal. John and Greg’s choices of ‘classic rock’, ‘motown’, and the like had absolutely played to their strengths. It didn’t hurt that the crowd seemed to like them pretty well, too.

The leather-clad couple came in third, finally encountering a song they hadn’t known well enough to avoid stumbling, leaving the gigglers to face off against John and Greg in the finals.

When their names were called to come up for their final song, John and Greg bounded up onto the stage, a bit sweaty despite the cool air blowing down from a vent over the stage, but still having a great time. They chose Classic Rock from the 60’s as their category, the alternative being Top 40 this time, and the screen showed them title of the song a moment later.

“Oh, yeah, this is perfect right now” John murmured under the sound of the crowd with a grin, recognising the song at once, and when he looked to Greg, the other man was grinning, as well.

“Right, who’s leading?” he asked, because they’d traded off depending on the songs and their individual ranges. “I can do this one.”

“You go.” Making a handing-over gesture, he ran his fingers through his hair and watched the countdown on the screen. “I’ll chime in on the chorus.”

In seconds, the music started and Greg stepped into the mic to start singing right on cue. “Hot town, summer in the city. Back of my neck getting dirt and gritty. Been down, isn't it a pity, doesn't seem to be a shadow in the city. All around, people looking half dead, walking on the sidewalk, hotter than a match head…”

John, as they’d both been doing, mimed playing instruments in between singing backup or chorus, or whatever was appropriate. In this instance, he made as if he were playing a keyboard, but he was dancing in place the whole time, just as many an electric keyboard player had done on many a stage. Greg was moving to the music, too, and as the music built toward the chorus, he grabbed the mic and tilted it on its stand just as John leaned in to sing the chorus with him, their shoulders coming to rest against each other like they’d planned it. “But at night it's a different world. Go out and find a girl. Come on, come on and dance all night. Despite the heat it'll be alright.”

Half the people in the bar were singing along by the chorus, the song not only well-known after more than 50 years, but more than a little timely, considering London’s ongoing heatwave. John surrendered to the moment, dancing and spinning, leaning into Greg on the choruses and egging on the audience with winks and grins. They both gestured to the crowd to join them as the song neared its final chorus, ending up with most of those at the front-most tables standing and waving their hands or clapping along, apparently all of them singing by that point.

At the end of the song, John and Greg got a raucous standing ovation that lasted several minutes before the MC went up to pave the way for the other couple—the gigglers—to do their final number. John followed behind Greg to the stairs at the end of the small stage, laughing out loud as a couple of women grabbed him for enthusiastic praise involving bouncy hugs and far more than flirty kisses.

“One at a time, ladies, there’s plenty of me to go ‘round!” Greg called out laughingly, but then his laughter was halted as a man slipped in behind the second woman to claim a kiss, as well. “I guess I should’ve said ‘ladies and gents’,” Greg quipped, looking torn between surprised and amused.

John had a few people wanting to slap him on the back, three women who might’ve been related—they all had almost the same colour hair and quite similar faces—all wanted to claim a kiss from him. As he was turning away from the last woman’s quite enthusiastic kiss, he, too, came face to face with a broad-shouldered man who looked like he could’ve been in action films. Grinning, John gamely accepted a hug from the man, and when he went in for a kiss, John simply gave a little half-shrug and a chuckle before accepting it—as well as the piece of paper the man tucked into his hand before winking and stepping out of the way.

As they waded through the rest of the little crowd, aiming for the seats being held for them over by the bar, John and Greg got some assorted handshakes and high-fives, along with a few more hit-and-run smooches. Catching each other’s eye, they were practically giggling as they reached their spots, leading to John very nearly running right into someone standing by their table.

“Oh, bugger!” John said as he stopped short of the taller man, one hand on the bloke’s chest, looking up. “I’m sorry, I—oh!” He felt a sort of shock and a burst of something like surprised glee. “Sherlock?!”

“I thought there was more to your nights out with Lestrade than ‘having a few pints’,” Sherlock said with a knowing hint of a smile, voice just barely loud enough for John to hear over the beginnings of the next couple’s final number. The gigglers were doing another j-pop piece, or so it sounded, and the crowd’s attention had shifted to them accordingly.

If it weren’t for Sherlock’s smile—not at all mocking, it seemed—John might have been embarrassed to be ‘found out’ that way. “Well,” he said, tipping his head to the side humorously, “sometimes it really is just us tossing back a few and going home.”

“Sherlock!” Greg’s surprised-sounding voice came from beyond John’s left shoulder. “What’re you doing here?”

“How long have you been here?” John asked before Sherlock could answer.

“Long enough to see where you’ve been getting your adrenalin fixes,” he replied, brows lifting, but his smile actually growing. “And to find out you’re a better singer than I’d surmised.”

“He’s pretty bloody good, actually, yeah. Come on, then, have a seat,” Greg urged, gesturing for Sherlock to take his slightly padded wooden chair. “Want anything?”

John shook his head, still looking up in a delighted daze at his friend. Sherlock merely said, “Scotch, rocks.”

“Of course, you would,” Greg complained good-naturedly, shuffling past them toward the bar.

Belatedly, John became aware that his hand was still on Sherlock’s chest and they were standing by two empty seats. “Sit, sit,” he urged, gesturing for Sherlock to take the seat Greg had offered. Once Sherlock had done so, John took his own former seat and leaned in to ask again, “Why’re you here?” He felt an utter dunce suddenly as he put his hand to Sherlock’s nearest arm and asked further, “Is something wrong?”

Shaking his head, Sherlock’s smile didn’t fade. “No, just me being curious where you’d gone.”

“I texted,” John pointed out, still feeling a bit confused.

“You did,” acknowledged Sherlock with a nod. Looking past John and then around the bar at the crowds enjoying the karaoke contest, he then returned his gaze to John, his smile going a bit wistful. “I ran out of experiments.”

Blinking in astonishment, John opened his mouth to comment on the believability of such a statement coming from Sherlock, but Greg returned just then with his and Sherlock’s drinks, putting the tumbler of scotch before the detective while keeping his own pint glass in-hand. Sherlock looked as though he would relinquish his seat back to Greg, but Greg waved him off.

“Nah, stay,” he said off-handedly, attention caught by one of the women who’d been so eager to kiss him after their performance. “I’ll be back in a bit.” His grin went flirty at the woman and John snorted, shaking his head and chuckling.

“I wouldn’t have thought there was such a thing as a karaoke groupie,” Sherlock said dryly before taking a prim sip of his drink.

John burst into giggles. “I guess he found some,” he finally managed to say.

Lifting one brow, Sherlock gave a nod past John’s other side, leaning close to murmur, “I believe those two would like to be _your_ ‘groupies’.”

Casually looking in the direction Sherlock had indicted, John saw one of the three ladies who’d greeted him coming off stage a few minutes before and the film-star handsome man who’d been right behind them. John was torn between blushing and sniggering like the teenager he hadn’t been for decades or saying something clever and urbane, but ended up blushing a bit and saying without thinking, “Where were they back when I was single?”

“John, you _are_ single,” Sherlock pointed out after a moment. When John turned to him, lips parted, half in shock and half in puzzlement at himself, Sherlock wore a strange sort of frown. His eyes searched John’s face, focus going from there down to his hands—the right clenched inside the curve of the left, atop the table—and then he spoke in a deliberately light tone, “That is, unless you and Lestrade have more to reveal than your hidden karaoke talents?”

Shaking his head and guffawing, John licked his lips and wished himself anywhere else; what had he been thinking, revealing not only his bisexuality, but far more than Sherlock probably cared to know? “No, that’s… nope.” He looked around, finding Greg standing against the wall that ran behind the stage, the woman he’d gone over to chat up practically glued to his side and a man—possibly the one that had snogged him coming off stage—pretty much playing opposite bookend on his other side; all of them a bit flushed and smiling at one another with increasingly blatant intent. “Though I’m wondering if this karaoke couple is breaking up, as well.”

Sherlock made a breathy little almost-laugh, but if he’d planned to say something further, the end of the last song in the karaoke competition interrupted whatever it was by drowning anything and everything out with shouts and applause. John thought it might’ve been louder than what his and Greg’s last number had received, but then they’d never expected to really win—certainly nice if it could be had, but not expected—only to have a good time. John, and he was pretty certain Greg, too, had enjoyed himself immensely, win or not.

The MC tapped the mic loudly and waved the noise down after a few minutes. “Now, as with each round before, you must all indicate your preference between the last two couples by your applause. I think you know what to do… Greg and John?”

The roar and hoots and applause was almost startling, and John found himself leaning back in his seat and grabbing onto Sherlock’s arm in only slightly put-on astonishment. What a din! It was amazing. He looked over and Greg and they exchanged huge grins and thumbs-up before John looked back up at the MC through the heads and shoulders of those who’d got to their feet and remained there still.

The MC waited a couple of minutes for the noise to start dying down before he motioned for quiet again. “Same again, Yolanda and Cheryl?”

The crowd’s noise swelled again, applause and vocal sounds filling the bar, but John felt like maybe the volume was just a bit less than when his and Greg’s names had been said. Just maybe.

Looking off to the far side of the stage, where the sound tech had been manning the sound system and karaoke machine, the MC waited a few seconds and then nodded with a smile. John couldn’t even _see_ the guy doing the sound, but he knew that’s who was over there and who the MC would be conferring with.

Coming back to the mic, the MC got the crowd quieted down once more and said in his best gameshow host voice, “Greg and John! Get up here, gents!”

John gaped in happy shock, turning to Sherlock to find him grinning in obvious happiness for John’s own excitement. Standing, John looked around to find Greg approaching, but stopping part of the way to him and beckoning for John to go up on the stage with him. Giddily caught up in the excitement, certainly fueled by the momentum of the events that evening and the pints John had been having since they’d arrived, he barely had the presence of mind to shout, “Be right back!” to Sherlock before joining Greg to accept their win.

“Oh my fucking god, John!” Greg said loudly as he caught John’s arm and nearly hauled him bodily up the short few stairs to the stage.

“I know!” John replied, having to practically bellow over the even greater noise of the crowd’s approval.

The MC said their names again, officially declared them the winners of the ‘Couples’ Night Karaoke Competition’ steins, each of which had a tightly rolled t-shirt stuffed into it, and handed them off to more enthusiasm by the audience and even some of their fellow contestants—John was surprised to see the leather-clad couple and several of the couples eliminated in earlier rounds applauding in front of the stage. Greg and John hugged each other laughingly, Greg hugged the MC and John shook his hand half off before they headed off the stage with their arms around each other, holding their steins high.

Greg came down the steps hugging anyone who held still enough, bussing people on the cheek randomly—John suspected he’d had more than the one pint while the last act did their bit—and then catching John and dragging him in to get loud smooches on the cheek and forehead. John was giggling a bit, returning the cheek kiss and then giving his friend a totally exaggerated smackeroo on the mouth. Both of them dissolved into giggles immediately and Greg went down the steps first, the two ‘karaoke groupies’, as Sherlock had labelled them, pulling him into more kissing with a lot more intent than John’s jokey version.

John turned away from watching Greg getting happily mauled and found himself swept into an enthusiastic hug, which he returned automatically. He was on the second-to-last step and it wasn’t until the person hugging him put their lips to his that his senses caught up to him and thwacked him in the back of the head—mostly metaphorically. The sensations of full, warm lips, a solidly muscled but lean body, huge hands spread upon his upper back and at his waist, and the secondhand taste of scotch were overridden by the familiar scent combination that he would have known with his eyes closed and one nostril tied behind his back. Sherlock?

Gasping into the still mostly chaste kiss, John pulled his head back to find he was, yes, face to face with Sherlock. As well as in his arms and, obviously, having just been kissing him. He hadn’t more immediately recognised him because they were the same height with John on that next-to-last step. A frisson of shock washed through him as his jaw fell, and he watched Sherlock’s brows go up and his eyes flit quickly to all the apparently pertinent parts of John’s face before catching and holding John’s gaze with a question blatant in those so-familiar features.

John waited for the joke reveal, for a response inside himself that was negative, for… what? For the sky to fall? Nope. Instead, he held on a little tighter, hoping he hadn’t banged his victory stein into Sherlock’s back to hard, and let himself realise that he couldn’t think of anything he’d like more right that moment than to kiss him again.

Nodding, knowing what Sherlock’s implicit question was from the obvious clues—well, that and knowing the man so well for so long—John got control of his jaw and the slow, wondering grin welling up in him arrived on his face as he said, “Yeah. Yes.”

“Thank goodness,” Sherlock muttered against John’s lips as he captured them again, this time a lot less platonically. John was so much more than okay with that.

Though he’d hardly noticed the people around them once the impact of who was hugging him and kissing him, the sound of catcalls and Greg sodding Lestrade going, “OooOooo!” like they were twelve-year-olds penetrated just enough to make his face go hot.

“Jesus,” John groaned, burying his face in Sherlock’s shoulder, though he could feel the shake and rumble of his friend’s laughter.

Beyond his head, John heard Sherlock say loudly, “I’m going to steal your partner away home, Lestrade.”

“That’s a great idea,” Greg replied, his voice revealing that he was probably grinning like a fool. “Saves me heartlessly ditching him later.”

John lifted his head to declare, “You bastard!” though with laughter throughout.

“I know, I know,” Greg agreed with mock mournfulness. Clapping a hand to John’s nearer shoulder and looking from him to Sherlock and back, Greg nodded approvingly. “It’s about time. Have a great weekend, you two.”

“You have fun, too,” John replied, not even pretending to argue or complain. It _was_ about time, wasn’t it? “Be careful.”

“Yes, Dad!” Greg sneered cheerfully, but winked with another nod before reaching up to ruffle Sherlock’s hair and saunter off to his two new friends.

“Looks like I’m all yours,” John said, a little breathless with the words and how he was coming to understand just how much he really meant them.

“I agree with Lestrade,” Sherlock told him mostly solemnly. “It’s about time.”

Stein tucked in the crook of one arm, Sherlock’s fingers and his twined at the end of the other arm, John let Sherlock lead him through the congratulatory crowd and out into the warm summer night.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out "[Summer In The City](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qHwZN1X6BVw)" by The Lovin' Spoonful on YouTube (with lyrics)


End file.
